


The More Things Change

by Anoke



Series: Modern Witcher Fic [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Assisted Suicide, Drunk Driving, Drunkenness, Gen, I'M JUST RECAPPING SHIT, M/M, Modern AU, No Plot/Plotless, Really No Plot, Serial Killers, and Geralt would if not for being A Responsible Adult be interested in Jaskier, but jaskier is WANTING, completely plotless, gen for now - Freeform, he'll be interested when Jaskier is Eventually An Adult, i put LITERAL BROKEN GAPS IN THIS SHIT BECAUSE I AM ONLY RECAPPING, no beta we die like renfri, not actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoke/pseuds/Anoke
Summary: Geralt, minus Dandelion, runs into Jaskier in the year 2020.Shit, this idiot kid is strangely compelling.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Modern Witcher Fic [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1652446
Comments: 37
Kudos: 207





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT A COHERENT STORY  
> IT'S NOT A LONG FIC  
> DON"T EXPECT TOO MUCH

Geralt groaned as the screaming started, right as his medallion started vibrating. Gods, all he'd wanted was to make a fucking ton of hamburgers and get quietly drunk at the beach-provided grills. Apparently that was too much to ask.

He hastily shoved the burgers to the cold part of the grill and grabbed his silver sword. He kept ahold of his bottle of vodka, too, though he screwed the cap back on. He jogged down the stairs to the sand and muttered "fuck" at the sight of a young idiot with a guitar running from a pack of Drowners.

He dashed in and removed the heads from two of the Drowners with one swing, feeling blood splatter across his face and chest, then used his mostly-full bottle of vodka to cave in the skull of another.

The idiot had stopped screaming, which was mildly surprising, but there were still four Drowners left so he didn't concentrate on it. Despite being able to kill Drowners in his sleep (no, literally), not paying attention to the fight at hand was just asking for trouble.

The remaining Drowners were closing in on him. He kicked one in the chest, sending it flying backwards into another, knocking them both down. He impaled both of them with the sword and rolled out of the way of the two now flanking him, swinging out with the vodka bottle as he did. His target screeched as its leg collapsed, its crushed knee no longer able to support it.

He straightened out of the roll, whirling with sword out, and gutted the standing Drowner. It collapsed in death throes.

He walked over and finished off the downed one, then looked up and saw that the idiot was still standing there, mouth half open.

The idiot flinched, a little, then started babbling. "Uh, you— you're not— your eyes are doing a thing."

Geralt blinked. Oh, _fuck._ He wasn't wearing his sunglasses, because he hadn't been _expecting_ to run into another person on a beach at 2 AM.

Of course, the idiot had also just seen him kill seven Drowners inside of a minute, so he had already kind of blown pretending to be human.

"Are, are you like a vampire or something?" the idiot asked, taking a half step forward.

Geralt snorted. 

_Or **something.**_

Rather than answer that question, he took a step forward, scanning the beach for signs of more Drowners.

"What the hell were you doing on the beach at 2AM? I know they have warning signs up everywhere," he asked the idiot.

"Well, it was—is—such a beautiful night and an artist like me is always looking for inspiration—" the idiot started.

Geralt fixed him with a glare. If that was really why he was out then he wasn't just an idiot, he was in fact too dumb to live.

"—and maybe my current paramour's father is kind of a prick and kicked me out of his house when he found me and it's easier to walk back along the beach," the idiot spilled in one breath. "Anyway I could ask you the same question! What are _you_ doing out here at 2AM?"

"I live out of my car and I wanted to get quietly drunk," he grunted, and started walking back to the stairs at the beach entrance.

"But you have a _sword_ ," the idiot said, scrambling after him.

Geralt gestured with the vodka in the general direction of the dead Drowners.

"Well, fair, but why a _sword?_ Why not a gun? With a gun you don't have to get within rending range," the idiot said.

"Too loud, you can run out of ammo, and silver bullets are expensive and a pain in the ass," Geralt responded.

"I— silver??" the idiot said.

"Silver is for monsters," Geralt said, phrase ground so deep into his subconscious that he probably couldn't have stopped himself if he tried.

The idiot didn't comment on that, at least.

Geralt climbed the stairs back to his claimed grill and table, set down the vodka, shoved the burgers back onto the hot part, and sat down to clean his sword.

The idiot just stood there, hand on hip, watching.

"You know, I don't think we've exchanged names yet. Not that it was the most opportune of times, while you were—very!—efficiently saving my life, but I think now's the moment to correct that," the idiot babbled. "You can call me Jaskier."

Geralt couldn't stop the skeptical eyebrow.

_**Buttercup?** Seriously? Either his parents hate him or he really is some kind of idiot._

"And you, my mysterious homeless knight in— dark clothes?" Jaskier said, squinting, as if that would make him see better.

Geralt tried to ignore him. He'd get bored and leave eventually, right?

Turned out he was only half right.

"I think these are done," Jaskier said, inspecting the burgers. "Can I have one?"

" _No,_ " Geralt growled before he realized he was trying to not encourage the idiot.

"Oh come _on,_ you have six of them here! Are you really planning on eating them all?"

" _Yes,_ " Geralt snarled.

Jaskier's hand, which had been half going for the fork Geralt was using, stopped.

"Oh. Right. Car living. I can… Venmo you for one, maybe? I'm hungry."

"The fuck is venmo?" Geralt asked.

"What, seriously? It's a money transfer app. You can attach it to your debit card or whatever—"

"Don't have one," Geralt said.

"I can show you how to set it up," Jaskier said. At least he'd stopped focusing on Geralt's food.

"Don't have a bank account," Geralt ground out, hoping to keep the distraction going.

"Wait, what? Why? Overdraft fees?" Jaskier said, looking a little confused.

"I just don't," Geralt said.

"I mean, _okay,_ " Jaskier said, drawing the last word out. "I hope you know you're becoming more mysterious by the moment."

Geralt ground his teeth. It might have been audible, or Jaskier might have just been continuing the conversation without input.

"I love mysteries, although I prefer being able to solve them. Unlike what I'm working on right now." Jaskier paused, possibly for effect, and made a dramatic gesture with his hands. "Was Foltest's daughter Adda _really_ the product of incest? Was she _actually_ cursed? What caused those deaths in 1237-1243, and why did they so abruptly stop? Most accounts claim Lord Ostirid, a close companion to the King's family, halted the killings at the cost of his own life, but _how?_ Were the rumors spread by people who wanted to destabilize Foltest's reign?"

Geralt's mouth was moving before he was really aware of it. "Rumors were true but they may have wanted to destabilize his reign anyway."

Jaskier _whipped_ his head around to stare at Geralt.

_Fuck._

His expression might have been just visible enough to Jaskier, or maybe it was the silence.

Geralt moved to plate his hamburgers, hoping beyond hope that Jaskier would switch topics again.

"No no no no!!! Please please keep talking I am doing a journalism CP on Temerian history—"

"What the fuck is a CP?" Geralt asked despite himself.

"CP. Culminating project, senior year of high school with which I can see you have zero recognition, what are you from the stone aaaaaaEEE—" his gaze suddenly lit up and Geralt felt a flicker of deep unease. 

"Two swords. Silver. Weird eyes. Shit. HOLY SHIT. _I need you!_ " Jaskier practically yelled.

" _What?_ " Geralt asked, the last sentence having caught him completely by surprise.

" _Oh my gods, you're a **Witcher** aren't you!!_"

Geralt felt his shoulders go up, defensively.

"You were actually _around_ for some of the shit that has happened in this long and storied country's history, I _desperately_ need to interview you, a primary source who is also a neutral party—"

"I was _not_ a neutral party," Geralt said, rather unwisely, trying desperately to cut Jaskier off. Of course he just kept going.

"Fine, not neutral, but you're like, obligated to not get involved in politics right? so at least you won't be saying everything was fine and dandy because Foltest had the power to have you and all your loved ones executed for treason," Jaskier paused for a second, possibly to take a breath.

 _He did have that power, at one point,_ Geralt thought and scowled at the reminder.

"You're frowning," Jaskier said. "Why are you frowning? I mean I get that you have a scary face to maintain but why _specifically—_ "

"And what are you going to claim your source was?" Geralt asked rather than get into the whole 'King Foltest's pet Witcher' thing.

That actually stopped Jaskier short.

"I don't suppose you might be _willing—_ " he started again after a few moments, and Geralt couldn't suppress a snarl.

Jaskier raised his hands placatingly. "Right, right, okay, bad idea, no show-and-tell with the big scary Witcher. Will you tell _me_ , anyway?"

"You can't _use_ it," Geralt said.

"Oh, no, I can, I just have to pretend I didn't get it straight from the horse's mouth, as it were."

"So what's the _point?_ "

"Apart from _actually knowing?_ Which is truthfully the main appeal," he said. "If I can make it popular enough people may start believing it. S'why I like music in addition to journalism," he gestured with his guitar. "Make a catchy enough song about something and it just kind of _slides_ into public thought."

The kid stood there, gesturing wildly as he talked, bright and enthusiastic and _fuck._

Geralt closed his eyes and prayed that he wasn't making a mistake.

"You may as well sit down and shut up," he said, picking up where he'd left off on burger prep.

"What, _really?_ " Jaskier said, staring at him in shock.

"Do you want me to reconsider?" Geralt asked.

"Nope! Nope, nope I'm just gonna," Jaskier babbled before remembering the shut up part of the command and clapping a hand over his mouth, sitting heavily on the bench, wide eyes staring at Geralt.

Geralt considered for a moment, sighed, and handed Jaskier one of the burgers.

"I—" Jaskier started.

"Hmm?" Geralt responded.

Jaskier took the hint and a bite.

Geralt sat down, ate two burgers while Jaskier sat there practically vibrating with excitement, topped it off with a very long slug from his vodka. Jaskier's eyes were glued to him the entire time.

"Adda—both of them—were cursed. Around 1229, Princess Adda—Foltest's sister—died. Recently there had been rumors that she had a lover. Seven years later people started dying on full moons. First in the main palace, then, after Foltest moved the entire court to the winter palace, anywhere within a few hours of the palace. Locals thought it was a vukodlak, but Foltest refused to do anything about it. They had to live with that—with people dying, brutally, and their king completely ignoring it—for another seven years.

"A group of miners scraped up a _lot_ of money, for them anyway—three thousand orens— to offer as a reward to any who killed the beast King Foltest was ignoring. A Witcher from the school of the Wolf took the contract, and took his pay up front.

"A moon passed, and the killings continued. Folk assumed he'd taken the coin and fled.

"I was a short ways outside of Vizima, at the time. I heard of the Witcher who'd cheated the miners and… well. We're a guild, even if a very odd one. Couldn't leave the miners thinking that we were all honorless bastards. And I needed some money to pay an inkeep. I left my horse with the man and headed in on foot.

"Foltest had let it go on too long. The miners were discussing _open rebellion_ when I got in. I offered to fulfill the contract for a third of the reward, paid after, as an apology, but a squadron of King's Guards stormed in. Nobody died, thankfully, but they made it very clear that I wasn't welcome in Temeria. They were to escort me to the border.

"About an hour out from the mines, the guards fell from their horses. The Chapter had been concerned about the killings and had sent a sorceress to try and resolve the issue. She decided to recruit me to help, against Foltest's wishes.

"Triss was quite smart," he added. "She didn't know what the creature was but she knew enough to say it wasn't a Vukodlak, and suspected that it was curse-caused. She'd had several bodies preserved, including Remus'. The other Witcher. He'd had his eyes clawed out, premortem, and the creature had eaten his heart and liver. None of the other corpses were missing the eyes, and the only parts that had been eaten were those two organs. Heart and liver are usually monster delicacies, but there's only one that will _only_ eat them—namely a Striga, which are always caused by curses."

"Wait, _wait._ So this Striga _killed a Witcher?_ After _blinding_ him? I mean, that's horrifying, but the legends suggest—" Jaskier asked, horrified.

He winced. He _knew_ he winced. 

Jaskier noticed, of course. He didn't say anything though, just stared, fascinated.

"It's. Look. The phrase 'retired Witcher' is both setup and punchline, get it? Witchers don't retire. They especially don't get maimed and then carry on. They die fighting monsters. When new Witchers were being trained, maybe if you could make it back to Kaer Morhen—or whichever school—you could become a teacher, but the massacre was over thirty years ago. We couldn't make new Witchers. There was no one to train."

Jaskier looked sick. "So he—"

"I _don't know,_ " Geralt said. "I _don't._ Maybe he actually couldn't fight her off without his eyesight. Maybe he didn't even think about it consciously. I didn't know him, not well. He was just a face I'd seen once or twice. But I can't help but think that might have been it."

" _Gods,_ " Jaskier said, and nothing else.

…

"So not _just_ brother-sister incest, but someone was _regularly jerking off in the dead woman's bed?? Holy_ **shit!** Was it Foltest? I'm betting it was Foltest."

"No. If it was I'd have recognized the scent."

Jaskier's face twisted a little in what looked like mingled disbelief and disgust. 

"So like, when you met Foltest, had he just been—"

Geralt realized what he meant just before he got to it.

"Oh. No. I didn't recognize the guy by the, ah,"

"Semen?" Jaskier suggested, face still wry.

Geralt nodded. "People tend to sweat while they're exerting themselves, and that had lasted enough that I could identify him. The masturbation was just… he didn't have any other excuse."

"Ah," Jaskier said, disgust having almost completely disappeared. "Thank you for explaining, please continue."

…

"And what happened to Ostirid? It's commonly believed he died defeating the monster…?" Jaskier asked, peering at Geralt.

"... I left him for the Striga," Geralt admitted quietly, ducking his head. "Told him he could ask _her_ for mercy."

"Good," Jaskier snapped, unexpected and cold.

Geralt jerked his head up to look at the kid.

"The man got the woman he supposedly loved _killed,_ refused to think about what she might want for her daughter, and oh yeah, _masturbated in her bed for at least seven years._ He so, _so_ deserved it. I'm just fucking furious that he got the credit and they just _left you out of it._ "

Geralt rolled a shoulder in half a shrug. "That's just how it goes. Besides, Foltest wanted to name his daughter his heir. Can't do that if people start asking pointed questions about why exactly the Witcher dragged Lord Ostirid, Princess Adda's greatest confidant, into the ruins of the old castle and why precisely he died there. Doesn't look good to have a princess who murdered and devoured people for seven years, and even less good for the possible father to have to have been literally dragged into the saving of her by a Witcher. By putting out that Ostirid had died saving the kingdom, if anyone had put together the pieces, he looked like a dedicated possible father instead of what he was, and Foltest had a double reason to dote on the younger Adda."

Jaskier made a derisive noise. "Dote on, yeah."

Geralt was about to interject, say that whatever sickness had driven Foltest to the elder Adda mercifully hadn't touched him regarding his children, but bit his tongue. He _really_ didn't want to get into how he knew.

Jaskier shook himself a little. "Right, sorry. Nothing you could've done. You had to fight her until _dawn?_ "

Geralt huffed a little. "Yep," he said, and had a few bites of his burger. 

Jaskier was almost vibrating as he waited for Geralt to stop chewing, and Geralt had to stop himself from drawing it out even further for the sheer amusement value.

"Ostirid distracted her for a little while. Not long, but it gave me time to find a good ambush spot. I brought a length of silver plated chain with me, but she broke through it after I'd gotten it wrapped around her." He made a face.

"Shit," Jaskier breathed.

"I remember being angry because it was fucking expensive," Geralt admitted. "Stupid thing to think about in the moment, but sometimes your brain does that.

"We wound up in the catacombs—I had to collapse the floor or be gutted by her. Thankfully it was almost dawn. When she made the dash for her mother's sarcophagus, I managed to shove her out of the way. I didn't think I could hold her off from it, so I climbed into it myself and sealed myself in. She beat at it for a long time, howling, but eventually she stopped screaming. I waited another minute to be sure and got out.

"She was collapsed on the floor, covered in mud and blood but looking human. I went over to check and make sure the curse had been completely undone, and she clawed me in the neck—her fingers hadn't changed yet. I, rather stupidly, tried to tear her throat out with my teeth. Really, we'd been beating each other up all night and she was cursed before she was even born, I shouldn't have expected her to feel particularly kindly towards me. Neither of us died, obviously, although I came pretty close," he added.

"Holy _shit,_ " Jaskier said. "Is it always like that?"

Geralt shrugged. "Not usually. Mostly it's like it is with those Drowners. Find a local nest, clear it out, destroy the nest."

"I can't help but notice—" Jaskier started, but Geralt cut him off.

"The city hired me under the table to destroy every nest I could find along the two and a half miles of beach under their jurisdiction. I suspect that group," he nodded towards the beach, "was out on an extended hunting trip when I was working, got pissed off about their lairs being gone, and decided to take it out on you, since you were nearby. Thankfully I have evidence I warned them about potential stragglers and I already got paid."

"Uh, not that you're not breathtakingly efficient, but why did they decide to hire you?" Jaskier asked.

"I'm much cheaper and much faster than an officially licensed service," Geralt said.

"Do they know you're a Witcher?" Jaskier asked.

"Probably not," Geralt said. "But given how bad the situation was, they were willing to take a chance. When you've already had a couple of deaths and are facing having to close the entire beach for at least two months, you'll happily let someone who offers to get things done in a week or two for a tenth of the cost have a shot, especially when they're willing to take payment upon completion."

"Disturbing but understandable," Jaskier commented, then continued. "I feel like I should do something for you. You saved my life, let me have some of your food, and told me some disturbing but _incredibly_ illuminating things about Foltest and Adda I and II. I don't have any cash on me, and I don't have much money overall..." he bit his lip and screwed up his face in thought.

"You don't have to," Geralt said, a little uncomfortable. "I generally don't charge people for this kind of thing."

"This kind of thing as in saving my life?" Jaskier said, raising a brow. "You have to let me repay you somehow."

_No, no **no** not the goddamn Law of Surprise—_

"—Stay at my place for a few days, maybe?" Jaskier said.

Geralt grunted in surprise, tension dropping out of his shoulders.

"I have hot water and a futon and a fridge and everything," the kid continued. "And then I could go to the bank and get you at least a little money."

"Hoping to hear more?" Geralt asked, partly to cover his relief.

"No!— well, _yes,_ but that's not the biggest part of why I'm asking! You've kinda got blood all over and it's kinda my fault and you did a bunch of really nice things for me so the _least_ I can offer you is getting to clean off with something other than a cold shower," Jaskier babbled, actually getting up and pacing, gesturing to the beach showers at the last.

"Won't your parents object?" Geralt asked, curious.

Jaskier's eyes flicked to the side and his heart rate picked up a little; he was hiding something.

"I live on my own," he said.

 _Hmm._ Well, it wasn't actually Geralt's business why the kid was on his own. And hell, hot water did sound _really_ good.

"Fine," he grunted. "Do you always invite strange adults over?"

"Only when they save my life," Jaskier chirped. "I never did get your name."

"It's Geralt."


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt signed a little and started clearing the table. He'd eaten most of the food he'd bought, so that at least was just a matter of throwing away wrappers. And the invitation to use the kid's fridge meant he could keep the pickles for a while, instead of eating them all over a day and a half, which was nice.

He wiped bits of Drowner off his vodka with a paper towel and slung the bottle into the bag with the scant remnants of food and his other purchases.

With that and his swords, he was ready to go.

He picked everything up and started walking towards the parking lot.

"Right I'll follow you then," Jaskier said, trotting after.

Geralt hummed and dug his keys out.

Roach was the only car in the parking lot. Geralt headed to the trunk, flipped down the tailgate, swung his supplies into the tarp-lined interior, closed it up, and walked to the driver's side door.

For some reason Jaskier was standing there.

"Here, if you'll give me your keys I can—" Jaskier started.

Geralt growled. "You do _not_ get to drive Roach."

"Roach? Is that— _you_ named your car? And you named your car _Roach?_ "

"Yes. Get in." Geralt gritted, gesturing to the passenger side.

"No! I'm not letting you drive!" Jaskier said.

"I am a perfectly capable driver—" Geralt started.

Jaskier spluttered. "Perf—perfectly capable?? Geralt I don't know if you've noticed but you drank like a _whole quarter_ of your massive bottle of vodka there, that is _not_ a capable state to be driving in!"

Geralt stopped short. That had _not_ been what he was expecting. Instead of continuing to argue he walked over to Jaskier and leaned down to breathe in his face. Jaskier gasped a little, heart rate picking up, and broke into a slightly nervous (and slightly aroused) sweat.

"Uh, what the hell are you…" he babbled.

"You know alcohol gets into your bloodstream and partially evaporates out once it's in your lung tissue?"

"Yeeesssss?" Jaskier said. "That's how breathalyzers work."

"I realize I've been eating, but can you smell it at all on me?"

Jaskier opened his mouth, then paused without saying anything and looked thoughtful.

"I'm a Witcher. We have a tolerance to toxic substances that edges into the absurd. The alcohol I use to make potions with would likely kill a normal man if he drank three ounces of it. The entire bottle would have gotten me drunk for a few hours, max, and that's assuming I was drinking more or less steadily," Geralt explained. "Hell, one time I had to get off-my-ass drunk on cheap wine and it took half a keg."

Jaskier had to try a couple times before he spoke. "Damn. That's. Uh. That makes sense."

Geralt pulled back. "And not to torpedo your newfound trust, but if I can kill a Katakan without a scratch while off-my-ass drunk, I doubt 3AM Tuesday traffic is going to present an impossible challenge."

Jaskier's entire posture changed. "Wait, you did _what?_ "

"Killed a Katakan while drunk."

" _Why?_ " Jaskier asked.

"Get in the car and I'll tell you."

Jaskier nearly dashed over to the passenger side door, and slid in quickly as he could while still protecting his guitar. Geralt felt his lips twitch, just a little, and got in himself.

"Katakans are a kind of vampire, right?" Jaskier asked as Geralt started Roach.

"They are. Sapient, tend to have a real liking for jewelry, can wear human guises. Sometimes they get picky about what they're feeding on." Geralt paused. "You're going to have to navigate."

"Huh? Oh! Oh yeah, right out of the park."

“It’s not much of a story. Katakan got picky _and_ started killing, targeted people who were super drunk,” Geralt said.

“But where was this happening? When? How did you figure it out? Uh, left at this intersection, then go straight for a while.”

“Oxenfurt in 1272. There was a contract up for it, official Redanian edict. Pretty sure it was military, Radovid was so off his head at the time I doubt he cared. Anyway, picked it up, talked to a local Redanian military commander. He wasn’t particularly helpful—monster hadn’t attacked anyone important enough for him to care yet—but he pointed me at a witness and at their medic-cum-coroner. Coroner wasn’t all that more helpful than the commander, but he hadn’t burned the bodies yet.

“The two bodies smelled like booze and had a number of bite marks, but they weren’t shredded. That ruled out everything but higher grade vampires. The witness had almost been a victim—she was day-drinking in a tavern when I found her. She confirmed she’d been drunk at the time and pointed me to the general area where she’d been attacked. I went and had a look and found a gilt covered silver bracelet near a recent bloodstain.”

“Wait, a _silver_ bracelet? How did you know it wasn’t one of the victims’? Another left here, by the way.”

“Victims were all pretty poor. None of them could have afforded the bracelet. And vampires—silver works on them, but it gets less effective the further up the scale the vampire is. It still wasn’t exactly a great idea, but,” Geralt shrugged. “Katakans.”

“So why did you need to get drunk? Couldn’t you have just looked for someone wearing a hell of a lot of jewelry?”

”A vampire’s human guise doesn’t always—or even usually—have the same jewelry on. It wouldn’t match mainstream human tastes almost anywhere, and standing out is not something vampires want to do.”

"Okay, makes sense, although I’m still not getting why you, _specifically_ , had to be the one to get trashed,” Jaskier said. “Right on Hyancith, here, and there’s an apartment complex a couple blocks down.”

“Easier to fight it drunk than try to fight it while protecting a drunk human. Not to mention it likely would have noticed me shadowing someone. Being drunk myself let it think it had a chance when it noticed I was a Witcher,” Geralt explained.

“Aaaaand it did not?” Jaskier asked.

“We tend to be good at fighting impaired. Plus I took Black Blood before I went wandering. Nasty surprise if it managed to bite me.” Geralt turned Roach onto the road into the apartment complex.

“From the name and the context I’m guessing Black Blood makes it really unpleasant for anything trying to suck your blood,” Jaskier said. “Head towards the back, hopefully there’s a spot.”

"It does." Geralt did eventually find a parking spot. "The katakan fled before I managed to kill it in the street, but it was bleeding so heavily I didn't have any trouble tracking it down. Broke into the house it was hiding in, finished it off."

“ _Huh,_ ” Jaskier said, looking right at him again. Geralt braced for another comment, but instead the kid just said “I’m on the fourth floor. Luckily I still have my keys,” and pulled out a set of brass knuckles to which a number of keys were attached by ring. Possibly even more confusingly, there were delicate engravings of flowers on the knuckles.

Geralt decided not to comment, and instead just followed the kid up the worn stairs and into unit 407.

The apartment was old and worn and tiny; Geralt guessed it was less than four hundred square feet. All the same, Jaskier had clearly been making the best of it. There were band posters plastered on the slightly stained walls, and a cheap but colorful rug laid on top of the worn carpet. The five square feet of Formica countertop and the electric stovetop were clean, although that may have been due to a lack of use.

"You can put your stuff down here," Jaskier said, gesturing to the heavy futon mattress on a reclining wooden couch frame. "And you can put whatever in the fridge." 

Geralt put down his duffel at the foot of the couch but kept the bag holding his swords. He wandered over to the tiny kitchen and swung open the freezer door, and shifted a couple of packages of mac and cheese so he could fit the vodka in. The pickles and cheese went into the mostly empty fridge.

"And the bathroom's just down here, I'll see if I can find like. Some sweatpants or something?"

Geralt grunted and inclined his head slightly; clean clothes to sleep in would be nice and he hadn't been to a laundromat too recently.

"That's a yes, then? Okay," Jaskier said, and walked off.

Geralt headed into the bathroom.

When he'd locked the bathroom door, he just sat down on the toilet seat for a moment. He had no idea what he was doing. Or rather, he knew _what_ he was doing, but he had no idea _why_. Jaskier was loud and obnoxious but something about him was very compelling. Compelling enough that Geralt had told him about the Striga, about the Oxenfurt katakan, the most he'd said to a person who wasn't Lambert or Eskel in months.

He sighed and stripped, hitting the switch for the bathroom fan. He needed a shower before he could soak in the tub.

One of the nice things about Emhyr having conquered half the damn world was that bits of Nilfgaardian culture about things like appropriate bathing had spread widely. Even the cheapest of hotel rooms—or in this case, apartments—usually came with a bathtub big enough for Geralt to actually submerge himself in.

He _did_ want to wash first, though.

"Hey, I found some sweatpants that'll probably fit you," came Jaskier's voice through the door. "Want me to wash your clothes, or…?"

Geralt, eyeing the stacked shelves of bottles, asked instead, "is there soap and shaving cream I can use here?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, use whatever, unless it's in a small bottle, those are really expensive and I try to make them last."

"Thanks," Geralt said, and started looking through the bottles, eventually setting aside the plainest shampoo and soap that he could find to use.

The shower was short and perfunctory; he scrubbed blood and old sweat out of his hair and off his skin, rinsed, and started the tub filling with the tap turned as hot as it got.

Geralt sighed as he waited for the water to rise. He had an obligation to fulfil. He'd heard from Eskel and Lambert as recently as two days ago, so barring absolutely shit luck, they should have the ability to respond to texts.

 _I saved an idiot from a pack of Drowners. He figured out I was a Witcher. Pestered me into telling him about Foltest and Adda._ He sent into the little group message.

Eskel was clearly bored, because he responded immediately.

_Pestered?_  
_You?_  
_Bullshit._

Geralt sighed. _He was…_ he started, then deleted it and wrote instead _He didn't freak out figuring out I was a Witcher, and he didn't want to put me under a glass either. He was just… super excited about a chance to hear about history from me. It was kinda nice._

_Uh-huh, sure. How hot is he? Gotta be pretty good to get you talking to a regular human in complete sentences._

_He was asking me because he's doing a history project at his HIGH SCHOOL, Eskel_

Eskel sent a gif of a horse coming to a sliding stop.

_Right. Is he a cute kid then?_

_More annoying._

A message from Lambert popped up.

_Oh my gods, you shits are waking me up at 2AM because Geralt's Having Feelings And Therefore A Crisis?_

_I repeat: he's a teenager, Lambert,_ Geralt typed. _And here I thought I'd never live to see the day where another Witcher gave in to the propaganda of us supposedly not having feelings._

_Did I say Dick Feelings? No. I did not. And you aren't emotionLESS, you just freak out whenever you feel something other than grump._

_Unlike you, whose only setting is asshole?_

_Off-topic, but it's weird as hell that Capitalizing Words for Emphasis came back into style._ Eskel piped in.

 _Everything circles back around eventually I suppose,_ Geralt responded, then continued, _I don't know how much traction the kid might get, since he's young and doesn't have any real supporting evidence for what I told him, but I wanted to give the warning._

 _Warning received, now shut up and let me go the fuck to sleep,_ Lambert sent.

 _Good night, Lambert,_ Eskel texted, attached to a picture of the book Go The Fuck To Sleep.

 _Fuck you,_ Lambert responded.

Geralt smiled a little and set his phone down. The tub was full, and he slid into it and groaned in pure pleasure, feeling several muscles in his back unkink and a number of old wounds stop aching. He leaned back in the tub and closed his eyes. He was going to stay in here for as long as the water stayed hot.

He half-dozed for quite a while, listening to Jaskier move around in the apartment, humming or singing quietly as he did so. The kid clearly had a hard time keeping quiet.

Eventually the water started approaching lukewarm and Geralt hauled himself from the tub with a huff. He toweled off and let the water drain, then collected the sweatpants from just outside the door, pulled them on, and left the door open to defog the mirror a bit before he started shaving.

"Hey, I— whoa." Jaskier was staring at him.

"Hmm?" Geralt said, rather resignedly glancing at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye.

"I don't think I've ever seen someone with roots lighter than their dyed hair before. Especially not that far grown out," Jaskier said, taking a half step closer. "What _color_ is that, is that—"

Geralt turned his head a little. Yes, Jaskier was mostly focusing on his hair. Another surprise. And the kid was wearing a plush quilted dressing gown, which Geralt thought had gone out of style decades ago.

Jaskier blinked and his gaze flicked to Geralt's face. "Oh! Your eyes are _amazing_ , you know that? I've seen cat eyes done in CG before but they never actually manage to do pupil dilation or contraction—"

Geralt snorted a little in amusement. 

"Ahhh right I was going to ask if you needed anything. I don't think I have a shirt that'll fit, though," Jaskier said, and his eyes flicked down before focusing back on Geralt's face. "Really, would you call your hair silver or white?"

"It's white," Geralt said, turning back to the mirror and spreading shaving cream on his face.

"Is that a _straight razor?_ "

"Hmmmm," Geralt intoned, letting the end rise a little.

"Can you show me how to use it?" was the next question.

"Hmm," Geralt hummed, concentrating on shaving.

"Right. No distracting the man with the razor. Well, I've got the futon all made up so you can go to sleep whenever. I tried to cover all the lights in the room too, but the blinds aren't really very good so the streetlamp is probably going to shine in," Jaskier said.

Geralt paused, blinking a little. That was both kind and very astute.

“...Thank you,” he eventually managed, and although he sounded gruff and uncomfortable even to his own ears Jaskier beamed at him.

“You’ll probably wake me when you leave,” he added. “Don’t take it personally.”

“ _I,_ ” Jaskier announced dramatically, “Have a _block schedule,_ and I _just so happen_ to have Wednesdays _completely free._ I’m not missing anything.”

“Hm,” Geralt said. So the kid hadn’t actually been out when he had obligations the next day.

“I should actually get some sleep though,” Jaskier added, a little awkwardly. “So, um. Good night?”

Geralt flicked some lather into the sink. “Night.”

The kid walked off, and Geralt listened to him getting settled while he finished shaving.


End file.
